


The Graveyard

by Eshnoazot



Category: Young Dracula
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:25:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshnoazot/pseuds/Eshnoazot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and oneshots for your reading pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Avoir le mal de quelqu'un

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally a dumping ground for all the little Drabbles and Oneshots that tend to pop up in the margins of my books. Enjoy if you will. Feedback is very much appreciated.

At the end of it all, Vlad could only look back to a pile of dust and and a crushing feeling in his chest.

At the time he had thought his actions had made sense; Bertrand had appeared to be a traitor, and the Tutor had always been a starch believer of the proper way to deal with a traitor.

No one could ever say he hadn't learnt from the best.

Except Bertrand wouldn't have let his anger determine his actions; he was far too clever, far too smart to let anger be the sole determinator of fate, and far too noble to stake another being when they _hugged_ you.

Maybe Vlad had been taught from the best, but it seemed as if he sure as hell hadn't learnt anything.

The stake in his hands had felt so right in his hollow anger at the betrayal of his tutor; but the weight in his hands, and the pile of dust was now nothing but a heavy reminder of the price that those around him payed for being so close. The price of _loyalty_.

Surely the French Vampire would have been so much better off had he decided not to play bodyguard for the Chosen One. He'd certainly be alive, for one. Maybe he would have returned to his home country, among those who spoke the language he knew best of all. Knowing his nature, he'd probably have found a nice Castle and stockpiled a grandiose library to satisfy his particular tastes for literature while everyone had denied the existence of a Shapeshifter. 

Even there, he hadn't learnt anything from the sole Vampire who was utterly loyal to him. 

But now the pile of dust was gone, and he couldn't even try to rectify his mistakes with a proper sendoff.

And the crushing feeling in his chest could only be described in an utterly Bertrand manner;

 _'Avoir le mal de quelqu'un'_ ; The feeling of missing someone so badly, it makes you sick.

He had learnt his lesson far too late.


	2. What could have been

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cherish your visions and your dreams as they are the children of your soul; the blueprints of your ultimate achievements."

Dreams were like sunlight, like ghosts, like mirrors. They reflected the very intricates of your soul, and illuminated everything you wished to hide. It was maybe for this reason alone, that Vampires didn't dream. Because they didn't have souls, they certainly didn't have reflections, and because dreams tore away the darkness they needed to survive. Maybe Vampires didn't dream, because they'd be broken from the darkness that settled into the place a soul should be. Maybe Vampires didn't dream because their reflected selves would tear them apart with guilt. 

Maybe Vampires didn't dream, because only memories dealt with the past, and Vampires clung to memories like a lifeline.

Sometimes he was grateful he couldn't see his own face. Sometimes he wondered if the mirror would drive him mad, as he searched at the lost humanity in his reflection, century after century.

Vampires didn't dream.

_Ingrid was laughing; dressed in the finest clothing as she sat at the Council Table, and the Dracula Coat of Arms was proudly displayed on her chest- the very one her father had denied her oh so many years ago, when Stokely was a new playground. She was happy._

_Ingrid was happy._

_And the council members swarmed into the room, and she was like Fire and Ice, and so well suited to her role. She was a natural; she pushed papers and argued and oh blood they listened. They listened as if their lives depended on it, and a familliar half-fang sat beside her with his characteristic quietness and he was so ALIVE, and somehow he wasn't shocked to see the long-dusted Will at the place he should have always been. And Ingrid, oh bats! her eyes were bright and determined-_

_Ingrid was happy._

But Vampire's didn't dream.

_Even his father was seated at the council table, nursing a cup of a sickly red liquid between his fingers. He drank deep and drained the cup, and even though his lips curled in distaste he raised his fingers and little Wolfie brought over  bottle of soyblood, and the count refilled his cup and drank once more._

_Wolfie peered over the table, and Ingrid grinned at him, but continued talking and Wolfie scrunched up his nose and sniffed the air and cocked his head before settling down beside the Count._

_And the old Vampire set a hand on his shoulder; a comforting squeeze as both regarded the Council with differing views of protectiveness and curosity._

But Vampire's didn't dream.

_Jonno was at the table, looking all the part of a Slayer, but all the part an Ambassador of Peace. Firm and Insistant, but protective and regal, with all too much sense in his manner than had ever been displayed by his father. The look on his face was something he had never seen before- trust._

_Oh, and Erin. Seated beside the Slayer, Erin with her wide blue eyes and warming smile. A mediator, a diplomat. A buffer between ying and yang, a beautiful melody in the uproar. Erin with love in her eyes and trust in her heart. With a whole heart, not the one he had torn and destroyed and crushed and lost. Not the one he had tried to save, but had ended up loosing._

But-

_Then Bertrand was there; even he with the shadow of contentness on his reserved features and he walked a familliar path, utterly comfortable, and utterly proud. Bertrand was here, and he wore his boots tightly laced and his coat pressed. Bertrand was here and he held his head so high, and his eyes were alert yet confident. Then he stopped and stood straight, as a caped figure crowned swept past; all darkness and pale skin._

Vampires-

_And the Grand High Vampire swept through the room to his gilded throne, and the blackness invaded the picture and then it cracked, and suddenly Will was dusted and Ingrid was screaming in pain and The council members were fanged and dangerous and his father let out a blood curdling laugh of pleasure and Wolfie was wide eyed and cowering under a table-_

Didn't-

_And then they were upon Jonno, and he fought so bravely with a splinter of the once grand Council Table in his hand, but then ERIN was screaming and then so silent before fangs erupted from her mouth and Jonno's blood was splattered across the room. Before Slayer blood was served for dinner-_

Dream.

_And blood poured from the walls, and Bertrand let out a noise of terror, and then he was dust. The crowed figure of himself looked on with utter horror, as like Midas, everything he touched was turned to rot, regardless of intention._

Vampires didn't dream.

But then again, he had never been much of a Vampire.


	3. The Nature of Blood Mirrors

When she was younger, she had devoured stories with an insatiable lust. For knowledge, for facts, for entertainment. Her parents had laughed at her peculiar way but had proudly remarked that their little Alex was bright, if not a little dreamy. Her mind devoured old classics and modern novels and critically cut away the fat and wondered at the near miracles performed in ancient classics, questioning if perhaps there was a little truth inside.

It was maybe this reason that her mother had frowned deeply but held her tongue when her grandfather visited them one day, from his secluded home in Europe to see to the birth of his eldest grandson.

"A bright one?"" He had questioned, glancing at her in such a way that displayed his dual disapproval and curiosity. She glared back at him, all too familiar with the story of WHY he had never ventured out to meet her, and had only come when a male was born...

"Has your mother informed you of our noble origins?" He asked her, nudging her out of the armchair in which she sat to claim the chair for himself, "Of how we were so cruelly robbed of our inheritance?"

Her mother from across the kitchen frowned at his words, but made no movement to intervene. But her motions enough were enough to convince her that it wouldn't be perhaps a good idea to tell him the truth.

"She has," Alex worded carefully, "However, I wish to hear it from you; no doubt it will be worth more."

He bristled at her words, and a strange contortion of his mouth soon followed. With a start she realised that she realised  that it must be his way of showing pleasure. Her spine chilled as he nodded and leant back in his chair with a deep-set grimace, starting the story with dancing hands.

"My mother  _Delphine LaLaurie_ , was a beautiful  _beautiful_  woman; A true Vampiress," The old man reverently spoke, before his voice filled with revulsion, "But the local peasants caught wind of her pantry filled with snacks and they set a mob upon her. They set her house on fire and set stakes through the hearts of my siblings and  burnt everything to the ground! They invaded the wreckage, and you know what they dared to do? They smashed our prized blood mirror, and she was slain! Slain like a common half-fang! Our entire family lied in dust. Except for me!"

The man paused to catch his breath, and stared at his hands in utter disgust, "A life of only 80 years and I will soon be nothing but a corpse. My inheritance as a Vampire was stolen by breathers, our family name desecrated, or clan robbed of status!"

The words had taken much more out of him than she had expected, for the old man slumped down in the chair and clutched his cane with a miserable expression. He watched her, stared at her pale face and dark hair and sneered, " A Blood Mirror is perhaps the most important part of a Vampire clan for it holds its power. If it's smashed, every vampire in that clan will turn into its mortal state.  _Do you understand child?_  My entire family was  _slain_  because they were aged far beyond a mortal. I survived because I was but a child, hell-bent on revenge. My child, and my grandchildren bear the  _filth of mortality_ , I had hoped my grandson would be strong enough to break through this _pitiful humanity_! But it seems as if he is as weak as the rest of you."

The old man, who smelled like dust and books rose, and eyed them all with thinly veiled contempt, "I'd rather you die by the hand of a Vampire, than die a mortal death child. Perhaps then you, you who dare look like a Vampiress, may help provide sustenance to our great race."

"It's an interesting story, grandfather," Alex bit back, enjoying his start of incredulousness and anger, "Will you be needing my assistance again to climb the stairs?"

When she was younger, she had devoured stories with an insatiable lust. For truth, for fun, for that nagging question in her mind why Halloween felt safe and why she was always so enthralled by bats in the night sky. Her parents had laughed at her peculiar way of staying indoors throughout the day, and running so filled with life through the night. They had always proudly remarked that their little Alex was brilliant, if not a little odd. Her mind sharpened to notice even the smallest detail and her instincts always treating her right. She was good at protecting her students; her almost family, her almost clan.

But she never stopped wondering at the near miracles performed in ancient classics, questioning if perhaps there was a little truth inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would very much appreciate any comments.


End file.
